


Even If I Only Have One Wing Left

by normativejean



Category: Pan Am
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/normativejean/pseuds/normativejean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate dreams of flying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even If I Only Have One Wing Left

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aitoheiwa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aitoheiwa/gifts).



> Written for **aitoheiwa** , and in the interest of full disclosure, your prompt intimidated the hell out of me. That said, I tried to give you as much of what you asked for as I could, so I hope you enjoy it! Many thanks to **empressearwig** and **spyglass** for their help making this readable. All remaining mistakes and issues are my doing.

 

Kate wants to see the world; she wants to live a life of freedom and independence, and to be something more than what her mother ever dreamt of being. She wants adventures and excitement, and she wants to do something meaningful with her life. She wants to fall in love, helplessly and passionately, and she wants to find a man who is strong enough to let her be strong, too.

All of these things happen, and none of them are the way she expects.

 

***

 

Kate attends Barnard College, because it is the closest thing to a compromise that she can find with her mother. For Mother, it is an all-girls school attached to an institution of higher learning that produces a large enough number of doctors and lawyers for her to feel confident that Kate will graduate with both her BA and MRS degrees; she would have preferred Wellesley or Smith to avoid the _”urban riff-raff”_ , but at least Columbia has a gate. For Kate, it is in New York City, which is all the reason she needs to want to go there. But there’s more, still.

Barnard girls are classy and sophisticated, and when she visits the campus, every single one she speaks to knows her own mind. The women of Barnard study languages and philosophy, biology and physics, politics and social theory, and they do it all for themselves, not for the husband they might catch. These are women who will have jobs and careers and _lives_ , and Kate wants to _live_ so badly that she can scarcely breath for the intensity of it. When her acceptance letter arrives, Kate remembers thinking, _finally, I am beginning._

The choices that spread out before Kate are almost overwhelming; the number of course offerings alone when she registers for her first semester make her head spin. So she does what she’s always done: she takes a practical look at everything and determines that freshman year is no time to be locking herself into one place. She’s only just learning how to fly; she’ll have plenty of time to choose a major, and so Kate opts for a solid liberal arts survey during her first year.

This all goes out the window her second year, when she discovers the double pleasure of linguistics and politics.

Oh, Kate has always knows she has an ear for languages; she won her high school’s French and Italian speech _and_ essay contests three years in a row, after all. But there is something about being able – being allowed, being _encouraged_ \- to immerse herself for hours in books and recordings, in the minutia that make a language a language, that sets Kate’s heart on fire. Before, she studied languages because it was something appropriately ladylike that she could do to appease her mother; it just happened to have enough real-world applications to convince Kate not to abandon something she loved just because her mother also happened to approve of it. But at Barnard, she has more languages to study than she can count with both hands; ancient and modern, living and dead. If humans had ever spoken it, Kate’s professors will find a way to bring it to their students.

And then, there is politics.

During her first year, Kate takes _Introduction to Political Philosophy_ to fulfill a general education requirement. She doesn’t expect to fall in love, or to suddenly feel like the world finally makes sense. But she does and it does, and Kate finds herself signing up for every course the department has to offer – courses on critical theory and current events, on classical Greek democracy and modern liberalization trends. The school does not offer courses on the one political subject everyone is talking about, because no one is supposed to talk about it. So, Kate does what she’s always done, and finds her own way.

During her fourth semester of college, she registers for a Russian language intensive, and begins to weave her love of languages together with her passion for politics. She learns about Communism and the growing global threat by studying the historical context that led the country down that path, and she ensures that she will be able to meet the threat head-on by speaking the language as well as a native of Moscow.

She doesn’t think, even once, of joining the front lines of the newest war the United States is embroiled in; instead, Kate thinks about translating intercepted cables, or “overhearing” the Soviet delegation in the commissary of the United Nations.

Kate’s dreams grow every year, every month, every day she’s at school. She sees herself finding the perfect balance: beautiful dresses and perfectly coiffed hair as she dashes between meetings with _this_ agency director and _that_ ambassador. She dreams of understanding the world well enough to walk it the whole way around.

She dreams of flying.

She never dreams that graduation will come and she will be unemployed.

 

***

 

Graduation is fast approaching, and Kate is getting quite sick of doors being (politely, gently) firmly closed in her face.

“I don’t understand,” she says, flopping gracelessly into an armchair in the Lehman Hall study lounge. Her suitemate sits across from her and doesn’t even look up from the pile of thick mathematics texts balanced on her lap. “I just don’t get it. How is no one hiring? I speak three languages. Fluently! Half of the classes on my transcript are from Columbia University proper, and my referees include a Nobel Prize winner!”

Marcie Price finally looks up, huge round glasses sliding down her nose from the change in position. She quirks a sad little half-grin at Kate; it’s the same expression she wore the night of the intercollegiate Spring Carnival junior year when she had to explain to Kate that Bobby Egan, the top student in Columbia’s French Lit department, wasn’t _actually_ going to help her run the French Club’s ring toss. Not that it mattered in the end – Jamie Reilly from the Columbia Debate Society split his time between his table and hers, across the aisle. They dated the whole summer and stayed friends afterwards, and now he’s accepted a Rhodes Scholarship to study law. Bobby Egan is moving back to Ohio to work at an insurance company.

And perhaps most importantly, Kate learned to play a mean game of billiards last summer.

So Marcie is giving her the _look_ , and Kate braces herself for whatever she’s about to say. “Think about where you’re applying for jobs.”

Kate does. “The State Department, the United Nations, all the good law firms with international offices—“

“So basically, you’re applying to all the places Columbia and Harvard and Princeton grads are applying.”

“Just say what you’re not saying.” Kate frowns. “There’s no point in being coy about it.”

Marcie shrugs. “Fine. You’re applying to high-level places against all the boys coming out of the Ivies.”

“I have an Ivy League degree!” Kate protests. “Our diplomas are certified by Columbia as well.”

“You know what I mean. You’re applying for the _same_ jobs the men are at those places. You told me you wanted to be a translator for the US mission!”

Kate doesn’t see what that has to do with anything. “And?”

“ _And_ ,” Marcie says, “no matter how smart you are, they’re still going to take one look at you and want to stick you at the front desk answering phones and taking dictation. There won’t be a place for you in those applications, Kate. Not now.”

It’s the sort of thing she’s heard the girls talking about her whole time at Barnard, but she’d believed…she’d hoped… “So, what about you, then?” She gestures at Marcie’s books. “I can’t imagine there’s much room for women physicists.”

“There’s not,” she says. “But my field requires advanced degrees, and academia has always been a little kinder to women than the real world.”

“Are you kidding me?” Kate gapes at her friend. “Columbia College _still_ doesn’t accept women, and they’ve been taking classes with us for decades! Of all the schools, they should be satisfied that women won’t ‘challenge the integrity,’ or whatever Kirk said, of the institution.” She rolls her eyes and drops her head against the seatback.

Marcie acknowledges Kate’s argument about academia but says, “Which proves my point. If it’s this bad in school and it’s _still_ a better place to be a woman, what does that say about the job market?”

“So what do you suggest?” Kate’s in a foul mood now and she doesn’t mean to take it out on Marcie, but she’s there and Kate always feels better when she works out her issues. “Ignore my skills and intelligence and dreams and just take whatever secretary job I can find? Become a _teacher_?” Those were the sort of careers Mother has always pushed her towards, and Kate’s stomach twists at the thought of taking one just to be able to keep living in Manhattan after graduation.

“I didn’t say that.” Marcie finally stacks the books on the floor beside her chair and tucks her legs up underneath her. She props up her chin in one hand, setting her elbow against the overstuffed armrest. “I’m just saying, be smart about it. Why are you applying to work in those places? What do you _really_ want?”

Kate opens her mouth to respond with her usual: _”I want to travel and see glamorous places. I want to serve my country and make the world better. I want to…”_ But she shuts it just as quickly, the question striking her anew in the light of Marcie’s unflinching gaze.

She wants to be useful. She wants to have a purpose, a real reason for her life. Because one thing she’s learned in her four years here is that it isn’t enough to merely _live_. She wants to be _alive_.

As soon as that thought enters her mind, Kate realizes: sitting behind a desk and listening to recordings in other languages – conversations people had while doing important things – will not make her feel alive. Listening to other people live life will not make her live her own. She knows what she wants, what she still wants, but suddenly, the way she thought she would get it no longer seems like the best way. Kate still wants to travel and visit exciting new places. She wants to see the world. There’s still too much out there that she hasn’t touched for herself to decide to spend the rest of her life in any one place.

Kate sits there in silence as Marcie picks up a book again, and thinks.

 _What do I really want?_

 

***

 

Later, Kate is walking towards her subway stop after eating dinner out with the other members of Pi Sigma Alpha (she represents one of three Barnard students among the Columbia chapter), when a poster on the side of one wall catches her eye. The woman in the picture is young and smiling, dressed in a blue uniform, with a cap perched jauntily atop her head. She is standing in front of a large jet plane and the Worldport, both looking like things out of the future. The caption merely says “Come fly with us and see the world!”

She doesn’t think about it again, until the next day when Kate is in the career services office to discuss alternative options. As she’s waiting for her appointment with her counselor, she sees another ad for Pan Am, this time a small brochure. But she picks it up and reads it, something sparking inside of her with each successive panel.

 _Fly around the globe!_

 _As many routes as there are languages!_

 _Stopovers in many major cities, with more to come!_

 _Something new every day!_

 _Be a woman of the world!_

And just like that, a new want settles in Kate’s heart. She _isn’t_ ready to settle into any one thing yet. This isn’t exactly how she saw the next decade of her life progressing (it isn’t at all how she saw it), but it might just be what she’s been searching for. How better to travel the world than on board the most advanced airplanes ever built?

She hears her name called and picks up the brochure before she stands. Kate walks into her guidance counselor’s office with a new determination, and a request to use the phone.

She has an interview to schedule.

 

***

 

Being a Pan Am stewardess gives Kate everything she wants, and even some things she doesn’t know she needs.

What she wants: travel, glamour, a passport filled with stamps from every exotic location in the world.

What she doesn’t know she needs: experience, patience, friends unlike any she’s ever had.

The experience and patience go hand-in-hand. Working for Pan Am isn’t as exciting as the brochures and posters make it out to be, but Kate sees it for the opportunity that it is. Taking coats and handing out drinks aren’t exactly what she went to Barnard for, and smiling falsely while ad men and bankers try to flirt with her at nine AM pushes a limit she didn’t know she had. Kate chafes at first at basically being told to sell her physical self to sell the airline – she’ll wear a girdle for fancy dinner parties, but for goodness sake, she was allowed to wear _pants_ in college! – and the mandatory weigh-ins make her fight the impulse to eat a platter of Rice Krispie Treats every night just on principle, but she sucks it up and goes through with all the humiliation, because mostly? She’s getting everything she wants.

Kate begins on domestic routes: New York to Chicago, or Miami, or Los Angeles, and even once to Hawaii. But those are four more places than she’s visited before, and almost every flight includes several hours on the ground (Los Angeles usually touches down overnight before returning, and Kate discovers that Hollywood is every bit as glamorous as it looks in the movies and newsreels). She visits Miami Beach and shops along Collins Avenue; Kate and another stewardess take a boat tour out of the marina and are able to actually _swim with dolphins_. She develops those photographs as soon as she’s back in New York and mails a copy to Laura, because Laura’s always loved the water and is trapped inland at Smith; Laura sends back a letter gushing with jealousy and a wistfulness that surprises Kate, but she tells Kate in no uncertain terms that she is to continue sending her pictures from her exotic travels.

She’s been with Pan Am for almost eleven months when she realizes that Miami and Los Angeles no longer feel exotic. They feel normal.

Before that thought can scare her too much – she joined Pan Am to visit exotic places! How can they not feel exotic anymore? What will she do if this dream stifles her, too? – she receives the phone call that changes everything.

Within a month, Kate is preparing to fly on the Idlewild-Heathrow route, with the promise of continued international travel if her training runs go well. The Personnel Office tells her that she’s exceeded their expectations from when they hired her. She doesn’t ask what that means, but Kate grew up with Laura, and she knows she’s never been “the pretty one.” Pan Am markets itself on only hiring the pretty ones, so she guesses that her success must mean they’ve also finally found a use for the smart ones.

It doesn’t enter her mind that her first impression of the poster outside the subway that night was correct, and that Pan Am is ushering the world into the future; she doesn’t see a future where being the pretty one and being the smart one can happen to the same woman.

She will learn, though, because the New York-London route is where she meets Maggie, Colette, and Bridget, and that changes everything.

 

***

 

“Oh.” Kate breathes out softly as she steps onto deck of the Boeing 707. “Oh, oh _wow_.”

An arm is slung around Kate’s shoulders and she looks over to see the only other American stewardess, Maggie, grinning smugly. “It _is_ something else, isn’t it?”

Two more bodies squeeze through the door and step by them. “Maggie, don’t be snobby.” That’s Bridget, Kate remembers from their brief introduction in the staff room, a Brit and the flight’s purser. “As I recall, your jaw positively dropped to the _floor_ , like something out of a cartoon, on your first flight.”

“Oh, hush.” Maggie’s grin falls into a more genuine smile as she squeezes Kate’s shoulders. “I’m being completely honest. I remember what it was like on those boring domestic hops, and this is _nothing_ like those.” She drops her arm and walks into the cabin. “Have you ever flown on a jet engine, Kate?”

“No.” Kate shakes her head and forces herself to follow the other stewardesses into the galley. “Just the Stratocruisers, and a DC-6.”

The Frenchwoman, Colette, smiles kindly as she stows her bags. “Well, you’re in for a real treat. It’s something of a balancing act, trying to serve three and three,” she waves at the seating design that runs the entire length of the interior, “but it’s so much easier to not have stairs to climb. And there’s really something to be said for no propeller noise.”

“Never mind _that_.” Maggie laughs and adjusts her hat in her compact mirror. “It’s _glamorous_ to fly a jet to _London_.”

“I do love how you Yanks talk about London as if it’s some holy city,” Bridget says. She’s already putting the coffee pots on, and that snaps Kate out of her awestruck stupor. She rushes over to help.

“London is _wonderful_ ,” Maggie argues. She takes out the flight manifest and begins looking it over. “The food, the architecture, and energy, the _accents_ …”

The others, including Kate, laugh. Bridget leans over to Kate and whispers loud enough for everyone to hear, “Oh, yes, Maggie has such a weakness for _accents_. She has such a love for _languages_ –“ She breaks off as Maggie throws a glove at her, causing Kate and Colette to laugh even harder. “Did I say something wrong?” Bridget asks, ducking the other glove.

“Now, now, ladies.”

They all turn at the new voice. Kate sees three men walking through the door; two younger and one older gentleman, who is clearly the pilot. He has kind eyes and a mustache that reminds her of her favorite uncle, and Kate likes him instantly.

“Should I even ask what’s going on back here?” The pilot looks sternly at Maggie and Bridget, but there’s nothing hard in his eyes, and Kate senses that they’ve played this game before. “Or are you going to tell me that there’s a reason that Pan Am stewardesses are behaving like children, instead of the flight crew on the premiere jet plane in existence?”

“Now, Joseph,” Maggie says with a pout, “do you _really_ think there’s an answer we can give you that will satisfy you?”

The pilot – Joseph – rolls his eyes and heads down the front of the cabin towards the control room. “I don’t want to know,” is his final remark before sitting in the pilot’s chair and sticking his headphones on.

The other two men – a quick scan of their nametags reveals the blond is Dean and the Indian is Sanjeev – exchange knowing smirks. “Well, Maggie?” Dean asks, his smile widening. “Is there a reason you were beating up on poor, defenseless Bridget? And in front of a new crew member, no less?”

Maggie squawks in mock outrage and smacks him lightly on the arm. “ _Defenseless_?! Well, I never – that’s it! Bridget, give me back my gloves! I need ammunition.”

Everyone is laughing as Maggie threatens the co-pilot with bodily harm, and Kate revels in the casual, close relationship the men and women of this crew seem to have with each other. It’s the sort of thing she was able to touch at Barnard with some of the Columbia boys, but too many of the old attitudes still reigned there. Here, in this moment, watching Maggie and Bridget and Colette laugh and play around with Dean and Sanjeev, while Joseph the Pilot watches them all with a smiling eye from the head of the plane, Kate feels something special.

She feels something changing.

Dean sticks out a hand in front of her. “You must be our newest stewardess,” he says, smiling. “Kate, right?”

Kate matches his smile and shakes his hand. “And I’m guessing, by that cocksure attitude of yours and Maggie’s opinion of you, that you’re handling our baggage?”

Everyone laughs, and Kate has an overwhelming sense of finally _belonging_. “Yeah,” Dean says with a roll of his eyes, “you’re _definitely_ one of them.” He picks up his bags and heads towards the control room as well.

Sanjeev gives her a quick handshake and a smile, tipping his hat. “You, my dear, are going to be my favorite. I can tell.” But there’s nothing smarmy in his tone, just a light flirt, and Kate thinks he might become her favorite, too. She watches him meet up with Dean and Joseph, closing the cockpit door behind him.

Colette nudges her with an elbow. “So,” she says. “That’s the whole crew. As you can see, we’re not the most – how do you say? – _formal_ group in the skies, but I think we do all right.”

“Joseph was a bomber mechanic during the War,” Bridget adds, her voice softening. It’s the same tone Kate’s heard many of the Europeans she’s met take when they talk about the War, one of sorrow and memory. “He says that a flight crew is family; it doesn’t matter if it’s military or civilian. So he tries to make these planes feel like home, however he can.”

Maggie nods and loops an arm through Kate’s. “Yes, yes, it’s all very sweet. But mostly, it’s just a lot of fun to rile Dean up like that.” She cocks an eyebrow at Bridget. “Don’t you agree?”

Bridget flushes and quickly turns back to the coffee pots. “Don’t you have a cabin to prepare?”

Maggie and Colette exchange knowing smiles, and Kate thinks that, though she may be the newest member of this strange family, she’s a member all the same. Kate turns back to help Bridget prepare the coach cabin, while the others begin setting up First Class. Bridget offers her a smile and lets her take over coffee preparation, while she begins organizing the flight’s purse.

“I overheard someone from Personnel talking about you,” she says. “Do you really speak three languages?”

Kate nods. “French, Italian, and Russian. Where do we keep the creamer?”

“Upper left cabinet.” Bridget sits down and continues working. “Russian, hmm? Bold choice for an American.”

“I wanted to learn _something_ useful in college.” Kate starts setting up the serving trays, but gives Bridget a quick look, because she understands that some people are rather skittish about that language.

But Bridget is just looking at her speculatively, like she’s trying to figure something out. Whatever it is, she seems to come to a conclusion, because her face slowly falls into a smile. “I think,” she says, “that you’re going to do just fine around here.”

 

***

 

Kate does fit in, better than she could have ever dreamed.

Maggie, Colette, and Bridget become her closest friends and confidantes, the people she shares everything with. They’re not always working the same flights, but she’s usually with at least one of them, and all four of them fly together often enough to earn something of a reputation among the rest of Pan Am’s flight crews.

That reputation is mostly good, and what isn’t good is only mostly deserved.

Kate sends pictures and letters to Laura from every new destination she travels. In Bombay, she rides atop an elephant during a Hindu religious festival; she and the girls narrowly escape a stampede brought on by an accident several streets away, but in the moment that photograph was taken, Kate was on top of the world. In Paris, Kate purchases an original painting from a street artist set up outside the Louvre and mails it to Laura, along with a postcard of the Champs-Elysees on which she writes a promise to take Laura back there someday; her sister is an art history major, and she knows an original French painting will make her the toast of the Smith campus. In Johannesburg, Kate, Maggie, and Colette spend an afternoon on a big game safari and somehow manage not to get eaten by the lioness who gives chase after their vehicle; after this, Colette suggests they stay away from large animals, and their reputation for getting into trouble during layovers becomes less easy to dismiss.

Even if they stay away from large animals, they still find plenty to write home about.

In Tokyo, Maggie impresses a shop owner with her proper use of honorifics, and they’re invited to a traditional tea ceremony something that _gaijin_ apparently seldom get to see. It takes hours out of their afternoon, but Kate is fascinated by the art and culture woven into such a deceptively simple act; she buys Laura a genuine Japanese tea set that the shop owner’s mother made. In Havana, the girls dance at a mambo club until sunrise; Kate sends her sister a record made by the local musicians. In Rome, Kate and Bridget attend a party at the American Embassy with a couple of gentlemen they meet on the plane; Kate dutifully writes down every detail of the evening for her sister, including how the senior economic officer gets so drunk that he asks her to run away with him, only to ask the same thing of an ice sculpture five minutes later.

With these women at her side, Kate travels the world and sees things and places and people she scarcely even read about in books. The world is grander than she’s imagined, and she’s imagined a lot, and yet, in some ways, traveling it makes the world seem smaller, closer. She finds that people are people, whether they’re in New York or Buenos Aires, San Francisco or Hong Kong. People, wherever she meets them, all want the same things: safety, family, love.

She meets women from all over the world, and every single one seems to be on the verge of the same thing: an awakening. More than anything, Kate feels like working for Pan Am in this time, these places, is moving her towards an awakening. She feels like her dreams, her _real_ dreams, are finally coming true.

Kate never expects that in making her dreams come true, she’s been giving her sister a new set of dreams of her own.

 

***

 

Kate will admit that she hits some rough patches during her first few assignments for Richard Parks, but she figures out the way covert assignments work. Eventually.

Signing on with the CIA, even as an unpaid, off-the-books courier, is the final realization of Kate’s dreams. At last, she’s doing something meaningful with her life, something _good_ for the world. And, who knew? Turns out, there _is_ a way to balance a life of glamorous travel with useful work, and that way is via the Pan Am stewardess uniform. If nothing else, Richard’s presence in her life makes the mandatory weigh-ins a heck of a lot easier to deal with.

But more than one of those rough patches come in the same uniform that makes her life better. First there is Bridget, who brings Kate in as her final act of patriotism, who shows Kate the dark side of this amazing double life. Then there is Laura, her own sister, whom Kate loves beyond reason but who picks a _really_ inconvenient time to start embracing her own agency. And then there is Maggie, Kate’s spiritual twin, the one who truly understands Kate’s desperate grasp at freedom and can always be counted on for debriefing; it is using Maggie to advance a mission that turns Kate’s stomach the most.

At least there’s still Colette. Kate hasn’t burned any bridges with Colette yet, although she imagines there’s still plenty of time.

Kate never thought herself the type of woman to fight with another woman over a man. That’s so…1950s. And to steal a man from Maggie, of all people, just strikes Kate as fundamentally _wrong_. But she does it, because Niko Lonza is a means to an end for the Agency, and Kate tries hard not to think about how _she’s_ barely more than that, either. Kate’s made a stand against Richard before, on Laura and other small things, and she thinks she might be able to do that with Roger Anderson in London, as well.

But she’s burned bridges with Roger, because of West Berlin, and so she goes ahead and steals a man from one of her closest friends, because that man will lead her to a Soviet spy.

Kate embarks on the assignment with her usual determination; after all, Niko Lonza is just a means to the end of a more stable, safe world. He’s a handsome, charming, and gentle means, but a means. Kate doesn’t expect the assignment to end differently than any other.

Of course the assignment ends differently. How could she have expected anything else?

 

***

  
The Monte Carlo mission ends, but Kate’s infatuation with Niko doesn’t. It should; it’s dangerous and she has to keep it a secret from everyone, but Kate’s learned trust her instincts. They led her to Barnard, and Pan Am, and her friends, and even a closer relationship with her sister. But this isn’t like any of those things, because this time, lives are very literally on the line.

Falling for a Yugoslavian Communist is maybe not the best choice Kate’s ever made. But if feels like the _right_ one, which is what keeps her happy in Niko’s arms.

They slide into something like a normal relationship, or at least, as normal as either of their lives allow. Niko’s still attached to the Yugoslavian Mission and regularly travels around the world on diplomatic assignments, while she’s now a part of one of Pan Am’s premiere international flight crews. Any given month, they’re lucky if they’re both in New York for as long as a week at the same time. But that somehow helps their relationship work, and Kate finds that absence really does make the heart grow fonder. They may only see each other for a few weeks each month, but they’re always _wonderful_ weeks.

They’re perfect weeks, and Kate knows that if she’s not careful, she could very well fall in love with Niko Lonza.

More than once, she finds herself starting to say something to Laura, or Colette, or even Maggie (who isn’t nearly as mad about her little stunt in the pub as she pretended to be), but she always manages to stop herself. If anyone would understand, it’s Laura, because her sister has always been better in touch with her heart than Kate is. More than that, Laura still, always, believes that love conquers all.

Kate’s not so sure of that, but sometimes she thinks Niko might be able to convince her.

For now, she’s content to just let herself be happy with what they have.

 

***

  
Kate does the grocery shopping and makes dinner, because for the last four years she’s lived alone and done that for herself. She doesn’t do it because she’s a woman and Niko’s a man and she’s supposed to feed him and care for him. She doesn’t.

She keeps her apartment in a general state of cleanliness because, well, it’s _her apartment_. She’s lived here for two years and is always running in and out between flights around the world, and so she’s developed a routine for taking care of domestic things because if she doesn’t, her apartment would be in a constant state of disaster. She dislikes chaos just enough to keep herself on a regular scrubbing schedule. She doesn’t do it because she’s a woman and Niko’s a man and she’s supposed to keep the home neat and tidy. She _doesn’t_.

She makes love to Niko because one thing she’s discovered during her life as a _strong, independent woman_ is that she _enjoys_ sex. She doesn’t sleep around, not like those girls below 14th Street, but she’s got nothing to save in that department for marriage. She lives her life on her own terms and does what she wants with her own body, and that includes sharing it with her boyfriend. Kate and Niko sleep together because _she_ wants to, not because she’s a woman and he’s a man and she’s supposed to defer to him in the bedroom. _She doesn’t._

Kate tells herself these things and she believes them, because her life has never not been her own. It never occurs to her that Niko thinks about things differently.

 

***

  
The argument starts off being about her having to go out of her way to a market, because the one on Essex is the _only_ one that carries the _Pašticada_ for stew made like his mother does back in Croatia. It ends with them shouting about her place as a woman, and possibly about the inferiority of Communism.

Kate’s not entirely certain, what with all the yelling, but she thinks he may have equated her support for women’s liberation with his support for socialism. It’s possible that when he said that, she threw the vase at the wall by his head as if possessed by Uta Hagen.

 _”I am neither your wife nor your mother, Niko! I’ll have to be on the subway for forty-five minutes_ each way _to go to that store, and I still have to get over to the Pan Am building for my account statements before flying out tomorrow! And you would_ still _have me making dinner tonight!”_

 _Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf? Not Niko, apparently._

 _”I ask a simple request, and you jump down my throat! You love the Essex market!” He has one hand gripping the kitchen doorframe, and the other raised to strike the wall. When they get like this, they don’t hold back. “You try to go there every time you’re in the city! I don’t understand what the problem is.”_

 _“The problem, Niko, is that you made the assumption that I_ would _go, without actually asking me. You didn’t_ ask _, Niko.”_

Later, Kate will have plenty of time to go over this fight in her head. She will examine it from every angle and under every microscope. She will break it apart and piece it back together so many times that it starts to resemble a Picasso. When that happens, Kate decides that any fight that is capable of turning in on itself like that isn’t a fight worth having. She would take it back, if she could.

But she can’t, and so she tries to at least learn from the memory.

 _”I didn’t think I had to,” he says, shaking his head. “I thought we were in this together.”_

 _“And your idea of ‘together’ is to treat me as a servant?” Kate braces her hands on her hips, purse long forgotten by the door. “To just assume you can dictate my life and demand you be fed every night promptly at six PM?”_

 _A strangled noise escapes Niko’s throat and he smoothes a hand over his face. “Where does this even come from? You like to cook! You always do the cooking! You even said you were interested in learning some Croatian recipes!”_

 _“Yes, when I have time! I’m leaving for Caracas tomorrow! When will I have the time?”_

Kate always makes time for the things she wants. She doesn’t know why she never made the time for this, for something as simple as this. She wouldn’t take back her decision that day – Kate’s enough of a realist to know there was simply no way to get down to Essex that afternoon – but she could have done something different later on. Could have made a gesture, the way Niko always made gestures. Flowers on Tuesdays _just because_ , that lovely perfume from Bloomingdale’s that was too fancy for work but he insisted she wear anyway, a first edition _Le Petit Prince_ in the original French. She adored the gifts, even if they never sat quite right with her. Kate had worked too hard to be strong and independent, nothing like the silly girls her mother’s friends raised who could be bought by shiny baubles, to melt at a man who gave her _presents_.

She never did get that part of it right. And the things that came later…

 _Kate returns in the early evening, arms laden with shopping bags and her Pan Am paperwork cluttering up her handbag. She’s tired and hot and just wants to kick off her heels and collapse on the sofa. That’s not what happens next._

 _“Where were you?” Niko asks, stepping out of the kitchen and tossing a tea towel over his shoulder. “I thought you’d be back hours ago.”_

 _“The subways were a nightmare,” Kate says, sliding beside him and setting the bags down on the dining table. “Storms in the Pacific delayed flights from Hawaii, Juneau, and San Francisco, and their flight crews were first getting to Personnel this afternoon. And these shoes were_ not _made to walk avenue blocks.” She straightens up and sniffs the air. “Are you_ cooking _?”_

 _Niko shrugs and moves towards her, gently kneading her shoulders in the exact spot that always tenses up. “You were not wrong,” he says. “I figured that since I had the time today, I should cook something.”_

 _It’s as close to an apology as he will ever give, and Kate knows she should take it for what it is. But she’s tense and sore and still keyed up from their earlier fight, and the ride on the 6, the N, and the 3 to get from the Pan Am building to her apartment takes a long time._

 _“So now you’re taking over my apartment?” she asks, voice as cold as she wishes she felt. “Just doing whatever you like in it, whether I want you to or not?”_

 _That seems to be what breaks Niko, because he pulls away with a growl. “You are impossible! You push and you take and you want and you grab, whatever it is that_ you _want, Kate! You give_ nothing _!”_

 _She bristles at the accusation, relishing the chance to let loose some pent up energy. She doesn’t know why this, here, today, is what gets to her, but something inside her is screaming that this is what it is to be a ‘kept woman.’ Something in Niko’s casualness in her apartment, how natural he looks in her kitchen, makes her want to lash out. This is_ her _kitchen in_ her _apartment; how_ dare _he look so, so…_ at home _here?_

 _“If I don’t keep every single thing I earn,” she screams back, “it will all be taken from me! I’ve worked too hard to get here!”_

 _“God!” he spits. “You’re such a capitalist.”_

Kate’s not a kept woman; wasn’t then, isn’t now. And later, she will think on how scared she was, how she wanted to run away; how she was tired of running away. Niko _fit_ in this little corner of her life, and it terrified her to think about him fitting in to more places. Her life wasn’t supposed to be a man who knew his way around a kitchen and who tried to share the home with her. But it wasn’t supposed to be Kate molding her life to fit a man into it, either. All the things she wanted for herself and her life, she only ever imagined them as _hers_. Kate’s never been very good at sharing.

She supposes that’s what makes her such a good little capitalist.

 _”Is that supposed to be an insult?” Kate moves through the kitchen to put things away, pointedly ignoring the pans simmering on the stove. “Because in case you haven’t noticed, I_ am _a capitalist. Being a capitalist is what pays for this apartment and the food you’re cooking.”_

 _“And being a Communist brought me to the United Nations as part of a diplomatic mission.” He hits below the belt when he wants, and Niko knows the death of Kate’s earlier dreams still makes her wonder ‘what if.’ “It’s what pays_ my _salary and_ my _apartment, here_ and _in Zagreb.” Niko raises an eyebrow. “How many homes does your great capitalist society provide you?”_

 _Kate whips around and slams the bottle of milk on the countertop. “How many people in your country even have_ one _home, Niko?” He narrows his eyes and tries to speak, but Kate cuts him off. “No! You want to talk about the_ great and glorious _Communist Empire that’s reaching across the world? How many people have_ died _for it? How many have been killed, or taken from their families in the night, never to be seen or heard from again, all to make your society operate?”_

 _“That’s not the real Yugoslavia and you know it!” Kate can hit below the belt too, and she knows that his weakness has always been love for his country. “Tito and Stalin and the rest of them pervert the real aims of socialism for their own gain!_ No one _is supposed to die for a better society;_ that’s the point _. Unlike the Americans, whose very system of government and economics is founded on the notion that for one person to do better, another one must do worse!”_

 _“It’s natural selection at work, Niko!” Kate shouts. “Or are you saying Darwin got it wrong, too? Because in America, everybody has their role to play. Everybody has their place. You’ve said it yourself: Tito just gets rid of anyone who he doesn’t have a place for.”_

 _Something in Niko’s demeanor changes, and Kate braces herself for what comes next. She still isn’t prepared. “You say a society only functions if everybody has a certain_ role _to fulfill, and yet you complain about my treating you how a woman_ should _act?”_

 _“I_ beg _your pardon--!”_

 _“No, no.” He gives her no chance to cut in this time, either. “Let’s just follow this one through, shall we?_ You _say that a society only works best when everyone works only for themselves, yes? And_ you _say that everybody works only for themselves because each individual person has a_ role _they’re supposed to play in that society? And this_ role _is based on whatever best serves the needs of…who, exactly?”_

 _“Oh, would you just—“_

 _“Ah!” Niko jabs a finger in the air. “Yes. Roles in_ American _society, superior as it is, are based on who serves whom.”_

 _“I never said--!”_

 _He shakes his head and keeps talking. “So I don’t really understand_ why _you get so upset over when I treat you like ‘_ the woman _.’”_

 _Niko says those words with such derision that Kate feels as though she’s been slapped. She wants desperately to hit back. “How_ dare _you?! In_ my _apartment, no less!”_

 _“Oh,_ your _apartment.” He walks passed her, waving his hands in the air like this whole thing is beneath him. “Well, you know what, Kate? I make more money than you do. I have the better apartment, and the better job, and the higher social standing. By your own logic, I_ should _tell you what to do! Your so-called ‘women’s liberation’ is nothing more than gendered socialism, and if you were a_ real _capitalist—“_

 _Kate screams and throws the first thing she can reach at Niko’s head._

Later, Kate will remember that it was the sight of the vase of flowers he’d bought the day before puddled on her linoleum that made her pause before saying anything else. She’d watched water drip down the cheerful yellow wallpaper while the flowers, once vibrant and sweet-smelling, lay in a limp heap on the floor. Their breathing had been harsh and labored, both of them staring at the mess, while the flowers acted as some sort of horrible metaphor for what was happening. At the time, all Kate knew was that she didn’t want to end up broken on the floor of her apartment, diminished from what she once was. At the time, Kate could only be certain that fighting with Niko like this was not an answer to anything.

 _“I…I don’t know why I just did that.” Kate stares at the spot on the floor where the flowers lie. “That was…”_

 _“Very American of you.” And then, Niko chuckles softly. “Quite…passionate, actually. Though I can’t say I care for hard objects being thrown at my head.”_

 _Kate tries to laugh too, but it comes out as more of a choked hiccup. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”_

 _“I made you mad,” he says, shrugging. But there’s more in his body language than he’s saying, and Kate finds that she can hear every word clearly for the first time all day. “We both…said some things.”_

 _“Yes, we did.” She sighs. “We’ve never fought like that before, have we?”_

 _Niko shakes his head. “First time for everything, I suppose. And we were probably long overdue.”_

 _Kate understands what he means; it’s so easy to treat their time in her apartment, like a little cocoon that can shelter them from reality. But they don’t only exist in her apartment; they both belong to the world. Times like these remind Kate that they belong to two different worlds. Overdue, indeed._

 _There’s more to say, she knows, but Kate finds that all the strength she’d thrown into the fight has abandoned her now. She doesn’t think she can stomach digging her way through the wastelands of their real arguments, necessary though it may be. Kate knows that if they’re going to move forward, really move forward_ together _, that they’ll have to talk about everything at some point, and soon. But all she can say is, “And I really liked that vase, too.”_

 _Niko throws his head back and laughs, boisterous and_ real _, and Kate finally feels herself smile. She reaches for his hand and starts to pull him from the kitchen. “Wait,” he says, stopping just long enough to turn the stovetop off. “What about dinner?”_

 _Kate turns and throws a coy grin over her shoulder, still leading him away. “It can wait.”_

 _The whole world can wait. Right now, Kate simply wants to_ be _, just for a little while._

As it turned out, ‘a little while’ was all they had.

 

***

  
In the end, they barely have six months together. It seems like nothing; it feels like a lifetime. Kate knows now that a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

The next three weeks pass in something of a blur for Kate. She knows she lands in no less than five countries, but she doesn’t even know which ones until she looks at her passport stamps. She knows she is supposed to do _something_ when she gets back to New York, but it isn’t until she lands and opens her locker in the Pan Am staff room that she sees the note Laura left about driving back to Connecticut for their father’s birthday party. The note gives Kate pause, and almost makes her break down in tears right there in the Pan Am building.

The last time she spoke to Laura, it had been to tell her she was in love with Niko. Laura had told her that love can triumph over anything, and that Kate should simply be with him.

Kate doesn’t know how to tell her sister that love was not enough; in this day and age, the only thing that conquers all is the Central Intelligence Agency.

But they have their father’s birthday party to go to this weekend, and so Kate goes back to her apartment and tries not to fall apart at the sight of Niko’s shaving cream still sitting on her bathroom counter. She does the only thing she can: Kate gets a box and puts away everything that belongs to him. In go the shaving cream and the book on his bedside table, the t-shirt he would wear while jogging and the potholders he bought one afternoon at a street fair. All the little reminders of a life that had bled into hers, fitting into a box she can put away on the top of a shelf in the back of her closet. Putting Niko away, she steps back into her living room as if he had never been there at all.

Once again, her apartment is her own, and that’s what makes Kate finally sink onto the floor and cry.

She cries for hours, so long that when she pulls herself up onto the couch the last waning beams of sunlight are touching her curtains. She doesn’t dare look in the mirror; she knows what she looks like when she cries, and red and puffy is not something she needs to see right now. Kate doesn’t even wash her makeup off, although judging by the cakey feeling of her face, she’s pretty certain that she’s at least cried most of her mascara off. It takes all the remaining strength in her body to just crawl into bed. She lies down on the edge and faces outward. They were barely together, and already an empty bed feels foreign to Kate. Her last thought before succumbing to sleep is a prayer to make it through the night without seeing Niko’s face.

When Kate awakens the next morning, she remembers why she hasn’t prayed since childhood.

It takes her a full twenty minutes after waking up to get out of bed. A glance at the clock, however, tells her that she only has an hour before Laura shows up for them to drive out to their parent’s home. Kate isn’t sure she has the strength to face her old friends today, let alone her mother. But things have been slowly improving between them since she got a passport and followed her children to London, so Kate hopes that maybe she’s officially run out of bad luck.

Kate still has rollers in her hair when the doorbell rings and Laura calls out, “I’m coming inside, so make sure you have clothes on!”

It strikes Kate as hilarious that her sister can simultaneously be modest and shout loud enough for the other residents to hear that Kate might be undressed. It really isn’t all that funny, but it’s the first time in three weeks that Kate’s been able to laugh at all, so when Laura enters the apartment Kate envelops her in a tight hug and doesn’t let go.

Laura pats her back and Kate pulls back enough to see the confused facial expression she wears. “O-kay,” she says, dragging out the word. “That was unexpected.”

“Sorry.” Kate offers her a tired smile, but it’s a smile, and it’s genuine. “I’m just really glad to see you, is all.”

Laura matches her smile, though with decidedly more energy. “I missed you too. I think this is the longest we’ve been apart since I joined Pan Am.”

“You know, I think you’re right.” And yet, for all that they’re together, Laura knows frighteningly little about Kate’s life. Kate finds she wants to tell her sister _everything_ , and rushes back into the bathroom before that urge can become any stronger. “Sorry, I’m running a little behind. I guess I was more jet-lagged than I thought I’d be, and I overslept this morning.”

“That’s fine.” Laura sets her handbag down and wanders further into the apartment. “This place looks different, somehow. Did you redecorate or something?”

There’s no logical reason for Laura to sense that the space is so much _emptier_ now than it was a few weeks ago, but Kate wonders if her sister can somehow feel the emotions shared within the walls. After all, she’s always been the more sensitive of the two; if anyone could sense the fading impression on Kate’s life that Niko made, it would be Laura.

“No,” Kate says. “Nothing like that.”

“Are you sure?” Laura sticks her head into the bathroom and frowns; Kate isn’t sure if it’s about the apartment or Kate’s hair. “This place just seems different since I moved out.”

“Maybe it seems bigger,” Kate says, unrolling her hair and trying to shape it into something that won’t earn her a sigh from Mother. “It’s not like this place was built for two people when you were here.” It wasn’t built for two when Niko was here, either, but Kate finds the past is shaded in more pleasant tones when she thinks about them ducking around each other in the mornings.

“Maybe. Hey, are you almost ready? I promised Mother we’d be home early enough to help with setting up for the party.”

Kate sighs and fluffs the final curls into place. “Of course you did.”

“It was either that or give in to her request that we drive up last night and stay over.”

Kate grimaces, both at the idea and Laura’s smug look. “Right. This is definitely preferable.”

Laura picks up her bag and hands Kate hers. “You ready?”

Taking one last glance around the apartment, as if Niko might come out of the kitchen to say goodbye and wish her luck, Kate nods. “Ready.”

 

***

  
They’ve been on US 1 for almost an hour when Laura finally loses control.

“So,” she says, fiddling with her gloves. “What’s going on with you and the diplomat?”

Even though Kate’s been trying to prepare herself for when Laura inevitably gave voice to the questions she’s now had a month to think about, her throat still closes up at the thought of speaking his name. This is perhaps not the best physical response to have when one is driving a Cadillac along the busiest highway in the country, so Kate forces back the ripple of pain in her chest and lets it disperse over her whole body instead; she tingles from head to toe, and has to grip the steering wheel tighter than normal, but she manages to keep her eyes open and clear. This is more than she could accomplish even twelve hours ago, and she thinks that’s worth celebrating.

Thank goodness they’re Catholic; at least the party will have _plenty_ of alcohol.

“Nothing,” Kate says. She keeps her eyes firmly on the road.

“Oh.” There’s a full day’s worth of questions in Laura’s voice, but she only asks one. “What happened? I mean, I thought…”

For just a moment, Kate squeezes her eyes shut. It’s all she needs, but she hates herself a little bit for still being so heartbroken over a man. The anger gives her enough strength to keep the tears at bay. “We were,” she says, in answer to the unspoken words at the end of Laura’s thought. “But it didn’t work out.”

Laura says again, “Oh,” and adds, “I’m sorry. It seemed like you really loved him.”

She doesn’t know why, but _that’s_ more than she can handle, and Kate pulls the car over to the shoulder on instinct as her breaths start coming in shallow and fast. She doesn’t even feel tears this time; instead, her eyes are so wide and dry that she wonders if they might fall right out of her head. But it’s a distant thought; mostly, she’s concerned with breathing enough to not pass out while her chest feels like a spring is uncoiling inside it and catching fire.

“Oh, my gosh!” Laura reaches across the seat in an instant, her hands gripping Kate’s shoulders. “Kate? Kate! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” she says, instinct again taking over.

“You are not fine! This is most certainly _not fine_!”

“Laura, you’re panicking.” Kate is, too, but Laura’s panic is louder.

Laura squawks indignantly for a moment. “Why, yes. I _am_ panicking, Kate! My sister, who never falls apart over _anything_ , very nearly drove the car off the road because she was falling apart over a guy! A _guy_!”

For some reason, that’s enough to snap Kate out of her hazy state of mind. “He’s not _just_ a guy.” Her voice isn’t strong in her own ears, and Kate hates to think what she must sound like to Laura. Louder, clearer, she says, “I _love_ him. Loved him. God! And now he’s gone because of—“ At least she still has the presence of mind not to finish that sentence. She isn’t sure how long that will last.

The car is silent except for the low hum of the engine. It sounds nothing like a 707, and for a moment it disorients Kate. But then, Laura slips her arms around Kate’s shoulders and pulls her across the bench for a tight hug, and the world feels the most right it’s been since Niko. “I’m sorry,” Laura whispers. “I’m _so sorry_. I know you loved him. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t love him so much that it hurt.”

“Hmm?” Kate doesn’t understand, but she lets her sister continue holding her.

“I know you like to pretend that you don’t, but you feel everything _so_ deeply. And you never do anything until you’ve gone over all the angles in your head a hundred times, so when you decide to be with someone, you’re really _with them_. You know?” Laura sighs softly. “I always envied that about you. You’ve never not known your own mind and heart. But I guess that’s not enough to stop the pain from coming, is it?”

Kate shakes her head against Laura’s shoulder. “No,” she says. “It’s not.”

“Do you regret it?” Laura asks after another few moments of silence. “Loving him, I mean.”

For the first time since it happened, Kate lets herself think back over their short, doomed relationship. She remembers those first nights in Monte Carlo, when it was all a game until suddenly it wasn’t. She remembers the first weeks in New York, keeping their relationship a secret and only meeting in parts of town where neither of them worked. She remembers nights spent at her apartment because they couldn’t be sure that Tito’s people weren’t watching his. She remembers lazy Sunday afternoons spent reading on the couch, and Wednesday evenings at their favorite Chinese restaurant in the West Village. She remembers cooking and fighting and making up and making love and a hundred tiny moments that she’s never before realized constituted a real relationship. For six months, Kate and Niko lived a real life, and Kate knows that while it wasn’t enough, would never be _enough_ , it was everything she’s ever wanted from love.

“No,” Kate finally says. “I could never regret it.”

“I wish I could make it better.”

It isn’t much, but Kate knows she has the barest trace of a smile on her lips. More importantly, it’s real, and it reminds her that she still has love in her life. She’s had _real love_ in her life, even if it’s never looked quite the way she used to imagine it would, in that vague and hazy future she once imagined for herself.

So many wishes granted, and none of them have ever looked the way she imagined they would. Kate’s surprisingly okay with that. After all, it’s more than most people ever get.

“You’ll be all right, Kate.” Laura pulls back enough to smile warmly at her. “It doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will. I promise. And I’ll be here for you however I can.”

Kate presses her forehead into her sister’s shoulder, a gesture of thanks they’ve used since they were little. She sits back up all the way and wipes her eyes, cringing at the thought of what she must look like now. Even if it’s only a fraction as bad as last night, Kate still cringes at what her mother will say. She pulls out her compact to check everything over, and Laura starts giggling.

“Worrying about Mother?” she asks.

“I know I shouldn’t.” Kate sighs; there’s almost no hope for her puffy eyes and her _hair_ is in a state. “But right now I just can’t…”

Laura purses her lips and thinks for only a moment. “Let me drive the rest of the way?”

“ _What_?” Kate wasn’t expecting _that_.

“This car’s roof folds down, right?”

Kate is officially lost now, and can only nod.

“We’ll take down the roof and let me drive the rest of the way. We’ll both look disheveled and Mother won’t question you about _anything_.” Laura’s smile slips into an almost-evil smirk, and Kate remembers the prank war at Camp Echo Lake during the summer of 1955, and she almost feels sorry for Mother. Almost. “I’m still a little mad at her for that stunt in London.”

“You really don’t have to,” Kate protests, but the thought of dealing with Mother over her looks and their root cause makes her stomach clench. “I’ve been handling Mother my whole life.”

“But you don’t have to, not today,” Laura says. “If it’ll help, then consider this my chance to repay you for everything you’ve done for me this year. And besides.” Her smile becomes genuine once more. “I’ve always wanted to drive a car with the top down.”

Kate laughs, and for a brief moment feels _good_. Not great, not even normal, and it passes too quickly, but she feels it all the same. “All right, all right! You’ve convinced me.” She opens her door and steps out into the morning sun, relishing the warmth of it. She tilts her head back and lets it wash over her. Laura gets out too, and they grin at each other over the hood of the car. In tandem, they fold the roof back and lock it in place. They run around the front, trading places, and Laura gives a little yip of excitement before sliding behind the wheel.

“This is so exciting!” Laura is maybe a tad too eager to be natural, but Kate lets her do this. Laura’s always been at her best when she’s helping someone, and right now, Kate is content to let her sister carry the weight. If there was one thing about her time with Niko that she wishes she could change, it would be not letting him share her burdens. She understands in a new way that it’s just a form of love. A way _to_ love someone else. “You know,” Laura continues, snapping Kate from her thoughts. “I think there’s quite a lot I can surprise Mother with today.” She pulls back on to the highway with such a jolt of speed that Kate forgets to ask her what she means by that; she’s too busy spending the next hour shouting out driving instructions that her sister mostly ignores.

Kate gets her answer later that day when, apparently at wit’s end over their mother’s chastisement for the little driving adventure, Laura snaps out that she kissed an African-American Marine _and_ let him sleep on her couch. She was right; that successfully keeps their mother from asking any questions about Kate’s life.

Maybe, Kate thinks, love is every bit as strong as her sister believes.

 

***

  
In the years after, Kate’s life settles into a new sort of normal.

She continues working for Pan Am and flies around the world, adding ten more countries and almost thirty more cities to her passport stamp collection. She has adventures with the other stewardesses, Laura seamlessly becoming their fourth on excursions to the Australian Outback and Victoria Falls. Kate lets herself love these women with a ferocity she never knew she was capable of, but that apparently she’s had in her all along. She holds nothing back, and lets herself feel everything.

Kate dates again; she has several affairs, a few significant, and one that even turns to love. It isn’t enough to make her give up the freedom the skies offer her, though, and it ends when she pushes his engagement ring back across the table at Lutece. But she regrets nothing about it, neither loving him nor knowing herself enough to know she isn’t ready for marriage. In the years after, Kate compromises on nothing.

She continues working for the CIA, though eventually her jobs are less courier and more covert. She’s never officially put on the payroll, but that doesn’t stop her or them from placing her in all sorts of situations. There’s the car chase in Brazil and the spy swap in Egypt, and finally, _finally_ the extraction she helps with in Russia.

Kate speaks the language like a Moscow native, and she successfully provides the distraction while a kidnapped agent is rescued.

She has a brief affair with Richard, though it is disastrous enough to convince them both that they are far better suited to verbal sparring and a strange sort of friendship than an intimate relationship. It is maybe the only thing they’ve ever agreed on, besides their initial assessment that the United States needs to win the war against the Soviets. But Richard stops pressuring her to take assignments after it’s over, and Kate is now in a position to only work for them when she wants to. She finds that she likes that particular freedom.

Maggie returns to Berkeley to finish (or rather, to start) her degree, and stays to campaign against Ronald Reagan. Laura is fired from Pan Am when she is photographed marching beside Joe in Selma, and moves to DC to work for the Smithsonian, determined to take her love of art out of the attic where it’s been collecting dust. Colette marries Dean and retires from service; Kate is the Maid of Honor at their wedding and godmother to their firstborn daughter. Ted finally makes captain, and he surprises her by asking her to join his flight crew; he says he only wants the best on his jet, and whatever their differences are, he knows she’s the best.

Time passes, and Kate grows up. The world is changing around her, faster than she’d once believed possible. Humanity is reaching for the stars, and may soon touch the moon itself. Civil rights are the words of the decade, and women’s rights are not far behind. The man who might have led the nation into a new era is gunned down, and the war that isn’t supposed to be one starts to take too many more. Kate begins to feel a restlessness she hasn’t known since college, and it makes her wonder if it isn’t time to move on completely.

Eventually, she stops looking for Niko’s name on the flight manifests.

The years pass, and Kate learns how to live all over again.

 

***

  
It makes sense that her final flight with Pan Am would be out of Zagreb. The city has become her own white whale over the years, something in the distance to taunt her and mock her and capture her imagination in a way that no place besides New York has ever managed. She’s only visited twice, but she wasn’t lying when she told dear Henry that Croatia was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen. From her hotel room window, she can see Medvenica Mountain, its snow-capped peak rising out of the landscape like a guardian watching over Zagreb. The city’s strong, immovable protector, like Niko.

Her suitcase is packed, as is her handbag, and she’s been wearing her uniform for almost an hour. But this is her last chance to see the world like this, as someone who can come and go with almost complete autonomy. After this flight, she will be just another passenger whenever she flies; another tourist wherever she travels. She feels sadder than she expected, but not enough to make her rethink or even regret her decision. The world has changed since Kate joined Pan Am, and she’s changed with it. Her birthday will soon be upon her, and though she’s not turning thirty yet, it’s close enough that it feels like a good age to try something new.

Time to move on.

The rest of the flight crew has already left for the airport, and the cab driver tells her – through the bellhop’s broken English – that she will be charged extra for a single-person ride during the weekday rush hour. That’s fine; Kate’s learned how to enjoy the disposable income that accompanies living only for herself.

She arrives at the airport so quickly that it belies the cab driver’s claim of traffic concerns, but Kate pays him the full amount he asks for anyway. She knows what a plane ticket to Zagreb costs as a normal passenger, and this might very well be the last time she sees the city for quite a while. Better to leave it on good terms. Kate makes her way through security and stops in the employee lounge just long enough to check her appearance (she might be the oldest stewardess on her crew, but that doesn’t mean she intends to look it) before heading for her departure gate. Though she’s not the purser – Kate’s never been able to calculate sums in her head quickly, not the way Bridget and Maggie could – the other girls treat her like the head of their crew, and Kate has no intention of being tardy for her final flight.

She chats with the stewardesses as they prepare the cabin, and when the pilots arrive, Ted pulls Kate into a tight hug and whispers that he’ll do his best not to give her a turbulent ride. Kate leans away and laughs, telling him that he’s never been anything _but_ turbulence in her life, but that’s okay. They share a smile full of the past, and he leads the other men into the cockpit to prepare for takeoff. Kate checks her watch and tells the stewardesses to take their places by the door, because it’s time to let the passengers on the plane.

Kate’s done the smiling-and-greeting routine so many times that it’s only muscle memory that keeps her from faltering when _he_ boards the plane, holding her eyes just long enough to convince Kate that he’s really here and she’s not going mad.

She wants nothing so much as to run after him, chase him to his seat and force him to tell her what he’s doing here, on _her_ flight, after all this time. She wants to throw her arms around him and never let go, just like she should have done so many years ago. She wants to cry, and laugh, and scream, and so many other things that she doesn’t think her body can contain all the contradictory impulses her heart is feeding it. But before she can do anything, she has to help get this plane into the air.

Kate doesn’t have a chance to even look at him until they’ve reached cruising altitude. With Europe below them, Kate begins the drink service through First Class and _finally_ makes her way to his side. It feels like a lifetime since she’s been there, and in all the ways that matter, it has.

“Hello, Mr. Lonza,” Kate says, notepad in hand. “May I offer you something to drink?”

Niko looks up at her, and she sees herself reflected in his eyes. This is her first good look at Niko in five years, and her mind tracks all the changes. There’s more gray in his hair, especially at the temples; there are lines around his eyes and mouth that she’s never seen; a scar runs down the side of his jaw, and another through his eyebrow. Later, Kate will remember thinking that the gray makes him look distinguished and hoping that the lines were from laughter. But the scar will always remind her that that was not the case.

“Hello, Kate.” He’s smiling softly, such a bare thing that it almost isn’t there at all. But it seems that even after so much time has passed, Kate still knows his face. “You look well.”

And like that, Kate feels something inside her settle into place. None of the subterfuge she’s mentally prepared since takeoff is necessary; they won’t be doing the song and dance of pretending not to know each other. Her smile becomes real. “How are you, Niko?”

“I’m still here.” His words mean more than either of them could ever express, but it’s enough for her that he says them without accusation.

“I’m glad, Niko.” Her throat tightens, and she’s suddenly back in the car with Laura on the way to their father’s birthday party. “…I’m so glad.”

“Kate.” He reaches out and rests a hand on her arm, and Kate realizes that she’s shaking very slightly. “Just breathe.”

She breathes deep, once, twice, three times, and when she opens her eyes again he’s still watching her with that little smile. It makes the scar fade enough to remind her that he didn’t always have it, and the smile makes her think that maybe he doesn’t blame her.

Taking another deep breath, Kate decides to start over again. “How are you, Niko?”

“I’m…good.” But the smile grows, and she knows he means it. “Actually, I’m a bit nervous. You see, I’m moving to a new country and starting a new job, so my life’s been quite stressful lately.”

Her flight duties completely forgotten, Kate can only manage a soft “Oh?” while gripping tightly to Niko’s seatback. He can’t mean…but this is…how…

 _Oh._

“Where are you headed?” She proud for keeping her voice strong. “London?” It’s the flight’s layover, so it would make sense to—

“New York, actually.” He looks up at her, the same imploring light in his eyes that she saw that awful night when Richard’s men took him away from her. “It would seem that I have a friend in the American government who expedited my work visa. I wasn’t expecting to leave for another six months.”

Kate thinks of fate and providence, and wonders if maybe the universe doesn’t believe in second chances. “That’s…wonderful, Niko.” And it _is_. “Do you have any idea who…?”

“To be honest, when it happened, I thought maybe that it was you.”

“No,” Kate says. “It wasn’t me.”

He shrugs, and Kate notices his wince and the way his right shoulder doesn’t move as well as his left; she adds it to her growing list of what he’s survived to reach this point. “You’re still here,” he says, a quiet note of wonder in his voice. “I’m glad. I’m glad I got the chance to see you again.”

“This is my last flight,” she says before she can stop herself. “I’m retiring.”

He seems surprised at that, and Kate’s reminded of the woman she was when he knew her. At the time, Pan Am was everything, and the idea of her leaving was as foreign as the places she traveled to. Softly, he asks, “What will you do now?”

It feels natural to tell him; it always felt natural to share her dreams with him. Once, he’d done the same, and she repaid him with government thugs and an interrogation room. She doesn’t let herself think about that, not now that she can finally look at him again. “I’m going to be a teacher. Maybe join Bobby Kennedy’s campaign.”

There’s more to it, of course. Kate wants to put her language skills to use in a way that doesn’t involve guns and danger. She’ll be teaching at Stuyvesant, a position that usually wouldn’t go to someone so young, but that was hers with little more trouble than proving her abilities. Richard had offered her a place with the State Department in thanks for her work over the years, but she’d turned him down. Now, thinking it over, she wonders if he didn’t have something to do with her placement it.

But she’ll be a good teacher; she’s learned enough about herself to know this is true, now. And there are rumors that Stuyvesant will even start accepting girls before the decade is over. Kate fully intends to help usher in the next generation of great minds, and help these young girls overcome all the obstacles life will try to throw in their path. That’s something else she knows: how to move forward.

“You’ll be a good teacher.” Niko’s smile reminds her of days spent lazing in bed, when they pretended they had their whole lives to spend together. “Young children?”

“Teenagers.”

He winces, and then laughs, and she joins him. “Good luck with that.”

“You, too.” She cocks her head to the side, wondering something. “Where will be working?”

“I’ll be teaching, too, actually,” he says, somewhat sheepishly. “Political science, at the New School. They asked, and were almost as surprised as I was that I’d be able to start for the spring semester instead of next fall.”

Kate swallows hard as a memory pushes its way to the surface. “You’ll enjoy Christmas in New York. It’s beautiful.”

“So I’ve heard.” Again, there’s more in their words to each other than they will ever say, but Kate just holds tight to the simple fact that they’re _here_. For now, it’s enough, because it’s more than she ever thought she’d have again.

Time might move on, but the heart, it seems, doesn’t.

Before she can say anything, the passenger behind Niko is grousing about getting his drink, and Kate remembers where they are, who she still is. “I have to…” She waves, a vague gesture meant to tell him that she still has a job for twenty-four more hours.

“Of course.” Niko nods, and she starts to walk away. “Wait,” he says. “In New York…”

Kate smiles, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. She thinks that smiling at _him_ might just be. “Oh, don’t you worry, Mr. Lonza. You’ll be running into me. Of that, I have absolutely no doubt.” She gives him a wink, and he throws his head back and laughs.

Kate takes drink orders from the rest of First Class and it isn’t until several hours later, when she’s helping clean the cabin when they’ve touched down in London and the passengers have filed off the plane for several hours, that she finds the envelope tucked into her bag.

It isn’t that she can’t figure out _how_ it got there, when she knows it wasn’t among her belongings in Zagreb. Kate worked for the CIA long enough to know about slight-of-hand and unseen drops, and she decides not to feel offended that someone’s managed to get to her without her knowledge, even though she hasn’t been with the Agency for almost three months.

There’s a note tucked inside the envelope, and Kate knows who it’s from as soon as she sees it. She’d received enough hand-written missives from Richard over the years to recognize his sharp scratches immediately. The note is deceptively simple, only two words, but they remind Kate that, in the end, Richard really is one of the good guys.

 _Happy Retirement._

Things suddenly make more sense, from her painless hiring process with Stuyvesant to, more importantly, Niko’s swift visa application. She wonders if Richard really did keep an eye on Niko all these years, or if her retirement was what spurred him to action. She wonders if her assignment to Zagreb now, this flight, on this day, is his handiwork as well. Richard isn’t a god, she knows (lord knows, when she pushed him off the pedestal, he fell _hard_ ), but he’s always been the kind to have his fingers in the pies that matter. And he’s never left an assignment unfinished.

Niko, Kate realizes, has always been the one open ending in her life. But maybe not anymore.

She doesn’t pretend to know what will happen next. It’s entirely possible that they’ve both become people who don’t fit together anymore. It’s possible they’ll never be able to get over old hurts and forgive each other. It’s possible that too much time has passed for them to work anymore.

But they worked once, against all the odds. They loved each other once, and they never really got the ending they deserved. They never got to end things for themselves, and maybe that lack of a true ending is all they need. Maybe they never really ended at all.

Kate doesn’t know. But she thinks that, maybe, they’ll have the chance to find out. This time, they can find each other in the light. No more secrets, no more hiding. A chance to learn to love each other as they truly are, for _who_ they truly are. A chance at real freedom, for both of them.

Kate folds the note along the crisp line through the middle of the page and slips it back in the envelope, tucking it back into her bag. She stands and goes back to arranging the cabin. They’ll be letting the passengers back on soon, and Kate intends for everything to be ready. She wants to depart on time, and finish this part of her life.

She’ll take to the skies one more time. But, Kate thinks, she’s only just beginning to fly.


End file.
